


Still Here

by yoursecretbattle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 06:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10825281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoursecretbattle/pseuds/yoursecretbattle
Summary: As his hand fell away from his face it seemed to naturally land on his opposite shoulder, his fingertips making gentle contact with the branded skin and suddenly fire was scorching up his spine, spreading like wildfire, through his arteries, his veins, his lungs. His eyes.He couldn’t breathe; and suddenly he wondered if this was Castiel.





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> Soo... I just wanted to get this posted. But I have ideas so let me know if anyone likes this and I'll keep writing. Feedback is amazing!

1.

Dean lifted the sleeve of his shirt and examined the mildly pink and from what Dean could tell, severely permanent handprint marring the once smooth skin of his shoulder. 

He frowned into the mirror at the marked flesh as he let go of his sleeve and ran his fingers slightly over the raised skin. 

He’d expected it to hurt, to be tender at least; but the skin didn’t feel new, fragile in a way that Dean knew scars felt and it wasn’t hot in a way a burn would be. It felt the same as the skin of his forearm or his chest; it felt the same and yet there was obviously a brand new feature to it. _Brand_ new. Heh. 

The only indication that something was different was the fire that ignited at the base of Dean’s spine as his fingers came into contact with the mark. That was certainly different. He removed his fingers and then placed them back to the mark, once, twice, and each time strange, intense burn travelled the length of his spine, igniting his senses. And each time he felt a throb at the base of his brain, a pulse as though it was trying to reach for something and was gone as soon as his fingers were removed. Ah the side effects of being yanked out of hell. _Fantastic_. 

But as trades went, fire shooting up his spine and a _brand_ new handprint on his shoulder that didn’t hurt in the least as a trade off for getting him out of _Hell_ wasn’t at all bad. He could definitely live with that. 

He slammed his hand away from his shoulder and onto the mirror in front of him, steadying himself against the gush of images as they stampeded their way across his mind. 

It was Hell, in all it’s glory, in all the things he couldn’t bring himself to think about now that he was out; now that he was back in this real world with Sam and Bobby and _people_ and relief from the pain and this new revelation that was the Angels and now _Castiel_ and his handprint on Dean’s shoulder. 

He squeezed his eyes shut as he shook his head, trying to disperse the waking nightmares from their grip on his consciousness. 

He gritted his teeth and did his best to conjure up happy memories, of Sam, of his father, of his mom, until with a final shake of his head the images dissipated like a cloud of smoke.

He blinked his eyes open and glanced around quickly, finding relief that no one was in the room with him. He didn't need Sammy seeing the effects Hell had had on him. He was sure he could keep a handle on the images. And anything else that went on down there certainly didn't need reliving. 

He stepped back from his lean against the mirror, glancing at his reflection and adjusting himself until he looked back to normal, making sure the sleeve of his t-shirt was covering the newly marked shoulder before he stepped away and headed for the door.

***

Castiel was… something Dean didn’t really have words for. 

_Angels._

He was still mostly convinced that Castiel was pulling his leg and this was some massive demonic joke. 

Angels couldn’t possibly be real. Because if they were real, how had they managed to let the world become so screwed up. How had they let Humankind almost destroy itself so many times over. How could they let disease and famine and cruelty to spread rampant over the surface of the world. How could they let Sam and his Dad and Bobby and himself and a few, scattered, other wholly underprepared and under equipped human beings wage the necessary war on all the demons and vampires and creatures that were constantly trying to make people their evening meal. _How could they be real when there was so much tragedy in the world? How could they be real in a world where Dean’s mother had been monstrously killed when he and his brother weren’t even in school yet? Surely if Angels existed they wouldn’t have let that happen to his pure, innocent mother. His mother who used to tell him stories about the Angels watching over him. Over them._

So no. Dean was mostly still convinced that Angels didn’t exist and Castiel was some super evil demon playing a ridiculous con on him. 

Though with a name like Castiel… and that face… and the whole poor tax accountant getup, the super evil demon story didn’t really seem to hold much weight either. 

But… Pamela. Surely an Angel couldn’t have had a hand in burning out the poor woman’s eyes. 

Dean reached up to rub his own eyes, a nervous tic he guessed as he leaned against the bar and as his hand fell away from his face it seemed to naturally land on his opposite shoulder, his fingertips making gentle contact with the branded skin and suddenly fire was scorching up his spine once more, but this time it continued; it spread like wildfire, through his arteries, his veins, his lungs. His eyes. 

He couldn’t breathe; and suddenly he wondered if this was Castiel, if his eyes were going to be scorched out of his head just as hers were. 

He staggered back from the bar as the burning intensified; his body screaming with fire, his hand still connected to his opposite shoulder. He hunched over as he gasped, struggling for breath; he heaved and heaved but his lungs were burning and he couldn’t pull in air no matter how hard he tried. 

The fire behind his eyes was intensifying and dulling at the same time. It was blinding white now behind his eyelids, but there was darkening spots around the edges, small patches of relief that Dean instinctively knew was actually the blackness of unconsciousness. He was about to pass out. Who could blame him though; he was boiling from the inside out. 

Suddenly that spot in his brain stem pulsed stronger than ever. 

_‘Dean.’_

Dean heaved again, and again no air entered his lungs. 

_‘Dean. Breathe.’_

Dean shook his head. He was breathing, he was gasping for it and it wasn’t coming. _What kind of idiot was telling him to do something he was_ already _doing. Douchebag._

_‘Dean. I know this is overwhelming, but you need to breathe. Open your eyes.’_

No, dean shook his head again. How could he open his eyes when they were on fire? 

_‘Dean!’_

The deep baritone wasn’t being gentle anymore. The voice snapped at him and Dean was shocked into flicking his eyelids open without a second thought and the soothing darkness of the roadhouse bar flooded his field of view and instantly the fire ebbed. 

Surprise smashed into Dean and his body convulsed as his diaphragm heaved and his lungs took in sweet, sweet air and Dean’s mind was at once back at his gravesite as he finally breached the dirt and wood and tasted fresh air and breathed for the first time in six months. 

“What the absolute fuck!” Dean gasped to no one in particular as he continued to reach for breath after breath. 

He was doubled over with the effort of breathing and suddenly there was a flare of something in his left shoulder and now as he stared at his hands bracing himself up on his knees, he realised he was no longer touching the mark on his shoulder. _Was it…?_

He straightened slowly, half wanting to know and half never wanting to experience what he just went through again. But if he was compromised from this _brand_ on his arm, if he was being spied upon, then he needed to know. 

He shook off the trauma of the previous attack and exhaled a long, slow breath, steeling himself for the worst. 

“Ok, ok.” He muttered to himself as he gathered his courage and tried to convince himself this was necessary. “Here goes nothing.” 

He inhaled sharply (just in case) as he brought the fingers of his right hand fiercely into contact with the handprint on his shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut. 

The so thoughtfully prepared breath was immediately expelled as pain and agony enveloped him and fire burst behind his eyes. 

_‘What the hell is going on?’_ Dean thought desperately to no one in particular, but wondering if the voice would return and almost immediately he had his answer. 

_‘It’s me. Castiel.’_ Replied the deep baritone that Dean was suddenly starting to recognise. _‘Dean. Dean.’_ The voice sounded concerned and was starting to become insistent. 

_‘What?’_ Dean half snapped. 

_‘Dean, you need to breathe.’_

_‘I know.’_ He ground out in his head. _‘But my lungs are on fire.’_

 _‘No they aren’t.’_ Castiel replied in Dean’s head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. _‘You know they aren’t on fire and you need to convince your body that it’s ok.’_

 _‘Oh yeah, sure. Why didn’t I think of that.’_ Dean thought sarcastically. _‘Right, Dean, you’re not on fire; your hand is just on your new weird ass Angel mark and you’re just in some weird ass thought conversation with aforementioned Angel.’_ Dean waited a beat and… nothing. _‘Fuck, fuck. I still can’t breathe. I need… I need to-’_ He needed to get out of this mind… thing and get back to the bar, get back to sweet, sweet air, but he couldn’t breathe let alone open his eyes again. 

The fire was building again, his lungs felt like they were about to explode and the blinding white had completely engulfed his vision and he was once again convinced his eyelids were melting from his face. 

_‘Dean.’_ Castiel’s thought-voice was getting impatient. _‘You need to breathe. If you can’t, then you will have to let go of the mark and try again.’_

_‘HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO LET THE MARK GO WHEN I CAN’T EVEN CONVINCE MYSELF TO BREATHE?’_ Dean was getting over his new Angel voice fast. 

And apparently, so was the Angel-voice. 

_‘DEAN. BREATHE!’_

Dean’s body once again reacted without his input and he felt his lungs expand; but it was as though time had almost stalled. He felt the stretch of each muscle as his chest pushed outward, he felt the slow stream of cool, stale air enter his lungs until he was full to bursting, it was almost as if he could feel the air passing from his lungs and circulating through his body, relief affecting each cell of his body as he once again began breathing. He sagged with relief and he simultaneously noticed that even his eyelids had recovered from the life-giving air and that his right hand was still in contact with his left shoulder. His eyes were still closed, but now instead of bright white light, there was almost complete blackness with a single pinprick of light in the middle of his field of view. 

_‘Umm…’_ he thought, but didn’t know for the life of him where to go after that. 

_‘I am still here. Well done. Now we can converse like this at will.’_ Came Castiel’s reply.

 _‘Um…’_ Dean thought again. _‘Why would we want to do that? Come to think of it, Castiel, why are you in my head?!’_

 _‘I told you; I was the one who raised you from perdition. It was and always has been my duty to watch over you. The form you were in while in Hell is extremely volatile for an Angel to touch and as a result of that agony we both endured we have now become somewhat bound together. And this form of communication is one of the manifestations of that bond.’_

_‘I- what- bond?’_ Dean was having a hard time processing. He breathed for a minute thinking it over, becoming more and more overwhelmed with the information until his brain settled onto something he’d been mulling over ever since he’d been returned to his body. _‘Ah, what- why was_ I _retrieved from Hell when I know people get sent to Hell all the bloody time and there are no Angels tasked to rescue them? Explain that to me, Cas. I deserved to be down there.’_

Dean could _feel_ the curious cock of the Angel’s head at the nickname that slipped from Dean’s mouth, but he brushed it aside. 

_‘Of course you didn’t deserve to be down there. Some… particular humans; yourself and Samuel included are assigned to the protection of an Angel at the beginning of their lives. The Angel mostly watches, there is usually no need to intervene. However in your case, a Winchester brother can not reside in Hell under any circumstances. And so, for the first time in eons it was my responsibility to liberate you from perdition and bring you back to where you belong. And as I said before, it was not an easy task. So please refrain from repeating the experience.’_

_‘Oh, right. Sure.’_ Was all Dean could seem to muster in the face of all that explanation. The one thing that seem to stick and swirl in his head was that he and Sammy were ‘particular humans’. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what made them such. _‘Um, right, so if you’ve done your duty and I’m back here on Earth all safe and sound, why haven’t you scurried back to Heaven, or wherever it was you were… before?’_

Dean could feel the exasperated sigh from the Angel as it seemed to rattle around in his head. 

_‘I-’_

The Angel cut himself off from whatever he was going to say, like for the first time he wasn’t actually sure of the reason. 

_‘I- Dean, I have to go. I will make contact again soon.’_

And suddenly Dean’s eyes snapped open once again and he was standing in the middle of the roadhouse bar again and not a single person around him had moved; as though no time had passed at all.


	2. 2.

2\. 

Dean didn’t tell Sam about his newly discovered mind meld abilities with the still highly mysterious _Angel._ Dean’s inner voice was still highly skeptical at the whole _Angel_ part. 

He wasn’t keeping it a secret because he didn’t trust Sam, and really, he was having _telepathic conversations with a so-called Angel,_ it was _him_ who couldn’t really be trusted and if anyone could help him figure it out, it would be Sam. The only reason he didn’t tell Sam was because he couldn’t find the words or gestures to even remotely describe what had happened. 

They were back at Bobby’s and the man himself had vanished out the back after Dean had stumbled through the door, shocky and shaken, still breathing hard; to look at Sam and only be able to get out, ‘I- I- I-’ and then precede to sit and stare at the opposite wall for an hour.

Bobby had escaped just minutes before Sam had gotten fed up with quietly muttering, “Dean.” trying to get his brother’s attention and had grabbed the other man’s shoulders and jerked him once, hard, snapping his brother’s green gaze away from the wall and back to Sam’s face. 

“Dean. What the hell happened? Did someone attack you? Did the Angel show up again?” 

“Dean stared at his brother for a second before reality rushed back and he chuckled low. “Ha, ah, yeah. Sort of.” 

“Dean…” Sam pleaded. 

“I don’t know, Sammy. I was in the bar and my arm started throbbing, you know,” he waved vaguely at his left shoulder, “and I touched it and…” 

Sam waited. And waited, but his brother seemed at a loss again. 

“And what, Dean?!” 

“I- ah, I don’t know, Sammy! It was like I was dying, it felt like I was burning from the inside out! And then I could hear Castiel in my head and then… we had an entire conversation. In my head. Sammy I think I might’ve come back wrong.” 

“Hey.” Sammy soothed. Typical Sam. Giant girl. “You didn’t come back wrong.” He said vehemently. “But you were gone for six months. And the power it took to get you out; Dean you saw the gravesite, it’s not crazy to think that maybe all that power would have some side effects.” 

Which was sort of what Castiel had said. _Inside his head._

“Sammy. I don’t- I don’t know if any of this is even real.” He spat the words out of his mouth, but it barely ended up as a whisper. “ _Castiel was in my head_. Even if I’m not _crazy,_ I’m at definitely compromised.” 

Sam took a step back then, considering and nodded once. Even Sammy didn’t have an argument for that one. “Ok. Ok, so we hole up here for a while; no more hunting until we know what’s going on with you.” 

Yeah, that was probably a good idea. Dean nodded. “Ok. But-” he paused, Sam wasn’t going to like this. “You and Bobby should get out of here. Just in case.”

And just as he’d predicted, Sam was shaking his head before he’d even finished the sentence. “No. Not a chance.” 

“Sammy,” Dean said impatiently. “You need to keep hunting. Somebody needs to be out there; we don’t know what the consequences of me being back will have, besides this…” he waved at his shoulder again, “thing. I was in Hell; I’m sure someone isn’t happy that I’m out. 

“Exactly.” Sammy nods his head, his ridiculous hair flopping through the air. “Another good reason why I am not leaving you here alone.” 

“He won’t be alone.” 

Sam startles and ducks low at the intruders voice, gun in hand and searching before either of them even really know what’s going on; Dean almost falls out of his chair. 

He has righted himself though and his hand is on the gun in his jacket before he really registers that he knows the voice. He knows that voice from _inside his head._

“Castiel.” He announces out loud. 

Sammy finally finds where Castiel is suddenly standing in the middle of the room and slowly starts to lower his gun, a wary expression on his face. Castiel just looks at Dean like he’s an interesting puzzle to be figured out. 

“Yes.” Is the Angel’s only answer. 

Dean kind of wants to punch him in his very attractive face. 

“Castiel,” Sammy starts in that understanding tone of voice he uses to get people to tell him things they don’t want to tell him, “Do you know what’s going on here?” He gestures behind himself to where Dean is still sitting. Getting up seems pointless at this point. 

“Of course.” he answers, matter-of-fact. He shoots Dean a look that seems to say ‘why didn’t you fill your brother in on everything that’s happening?’. Jesus; Dean really wishes he could. “There are demons hunting Dean, because I retrieved him from Hell.” 

Sam just looks more confused. “Ok, but we’ve dealt with demons before. We can deal with them now. Why- Castiel, why are you still here?” The fear that sets into Sam’s voice makes Dean’s heart clench. And of course now it’s obvious to Dean; Castiel is still here because there are hordes of angry Demons on his trail and the Angel doesn’t want to lose the asset he just rescued from the pit. “Is it- how bad is it?” Sam continues. 

Castiel looks confused for a minute and then he just looks guilty. “The situation is less than ideal.” He says stoically. “But our reconnaissance has determined that Lucifer may be involved in the search for Dean.”

_Wait. What?_

“Lucifer?” He says unbelievably. “You’re telling me Lucifer is real? The Devil? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Castiel looks at him like he’s lost a few of his marbles. Dean certainly feels that way.

“Of course Lucifer is real,” he says with exasperation. “And it would not be wise to underestimate him.” 

“Why does he care that Dean got out of Hell?” Sammy pipes in again. 

Castiel considers his brother for a moment before he answers slowly. “Liberating any soul from Hell tends to leave a vacuum, a powerful force of emptiness because the balance has been disrupted. The emptiness left by a soul as powerful as Dean’s, or yours,” he nods at Sammy, “would be vast and terrifying.” 

Dean thinks it’s a good explanation. He also thinks it’s not the whole story. 

“Ok. But I still don’t understand why you got me out of there then, if all it’s done is stick the Goddamn Devil on my ass.” 

And whoops, ‘Goddamn’ was probably not the best choice of curse word, given the glare Castiel sends his way. It fades after a moment and then the guilty look is back. But the Angel doesn’t answer. 

It’s Sam who inputs what they’re all thinking. “You weren’t supposed to get him out, were you?” 

And there it is.


End file.
